


Blister

by Desdemona



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-12
Updated: 2018-11-12
Packaged: 2019-08-22 11:01:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 365
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16596623
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Desdemona/pseuds/Desdemona
Summary: Every clock he sees seems to freeze and he’s the only one that notices.





	Blister

**Author's Note:**

> Combing through old fics and running into old Supernatural fics that I never put up so here's another one. Dean is my favorite.

 

 

Sometimes, it’s the waiting that kills him. Time creeps by, snickering and shuddery as an old man that gets the joke but won’t let him in on it. He finds ways to handle it. Werewolf here. Demi-god there. Shapeshifter two times in a row, shit, it’s like they’re breeding or something. But in the end, when it’s just him and a blood-stained shotgun ( _cross, blade, hands_ ), Dean isn’t sure if the wait will ever end.

~*~

 

Sam leaves. No words, on paper or otherwise. None that count. Just an empty bed on the other side of the room that Dean can feel in his bones. Sam leaves. Escapes. Runs. Whatever you want to call it, Sam makes tracks and if a part of him is relieved that Sam ( _still too young, too broken, too angry, what’s he talking about, they’re all angry_ ) isn’t there anymore then that’s between him and the watery gold at the bottom of his glass.

 

~*~

 

When Sam comes back and Dad seems willing to stick around, he figures this is what he’s been waiting for. His brother back on track, handling a shotgun with familiar hands despite the occasional cultured curl wrapped around his insults and a tan that seems bone deep. And for a little bit, Dean is breathing. He can’t remember when he stopped but the first breath tastes like home.

 

~*~

 

Then Dad is a pile of ashes and a cheap tombstone next to Mom’s. It doesn’t take long before Sam disappears again, dropping words like bombs, _we can’t do this forever, this isn’t normal, this isn’t what I want._ Dean only hears _I don’t need you_ and goes out to fuck and shoot something. Not necessarily in that order. Every clock he sees seems to freeze and he’s the only one that notices.

 

~*~

 

Dean rubs a hand over his chest, staring at the imprint burned deep in his skin. Someone had wanted him enough to drag him back to life. There’s nothing good about this. There never is. His life isn’t shaped for good anymore. And if it looks good, shoot it on principle. Still. The hot burn in his veins is blood but feels a lot like gratitude.

 


End file.
